


A Call to the Yard

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Jaime and Brienne and What We All Deserved [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime Bunch, Dad Jaime, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Past Character Death, Slice of Life, sibling dynamics, soft jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Arthur was all of five years old and ever since he could stumble to the windows, he had been burning to go outside into the practice yard where Joanna spent her mornings and evenings training with her longsword, blonde hair tied fixed in a loose knot, accommodated by the special helm she wore





	A Call to the Yard

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Back on these series after spending time on a couple of others! Different J/B stories, if you're interested, I'd love to see what you think!
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading, please R and R, let me know what you think!

Arthur stood, wobbling under the weight of his padded armor. The helm was too large for his head, his eyes nearly shaded by the large overhang, the wooden sword he was holding took both of his hands to keep it aloft. All in all, he rather resembled a turtle, or, Jaime supposed, a scarecrow with his blonde hair sticking out under the helm.

He was perfect.

Arthur was all of five years old and ever since he could stumble to the windows, he had been burning to go outside into the practice yard where Joanna spent her mornings and evenings training with her longsword, blonde hair tied fixed in a loose knot, accommodated by the special helm she wore. Arthur adored her, and when it was a rare moment that Joanna was in the castle, he clung to her like a burr, asking questions about fighting and stories of knights and castles and dragons and ships. Joanna, now nearing fifteen, seemed to be having less and less patience for it, though she had always accommodated Arthur as much as her patience would allow.

“Here you are, Arthur,” Ser Podrick finished placing the helm on the small strawman that Arthur would be fighting against. “Let’s see your footwork.”

Jaime had watched the night before as Arthur had gone through his steps. His sister had sat at the table in the Great Hall, exasperated as Arthur’s still short limbs made him repeat the steps seemingly endless times before he managed to find his footing. After she had left for her own evening practice, he had attempted to get Selwyn to help him.

Selwyn, though he perhaps physcially resembled Brienne most of their children, was the least inclined to knighthood. Even less so than Catelyn, who had recently told her older sister that she’d sooner fling herself off the back balcony of Evenfall Hall than go on a three-day riding trip across the Width of Tarth that Joanna was planning. He had stood stock still, his mouth fixed in a frown and his Lannister-green eyes fixed on Jaime desperate for a rescue while Arthur had stepped around him, swinging an imaginary sword. Trying not to laugh, Jaime had intervened shortly after, taking both upstairs for a bath before bed.

 _“Evenfall!”_ Arthur yelled, and started to do his steps. He was slow, a bit clumsy, but he did them in the right order, landing a heavy thud onto the strawman’s shoulder as Jaime watched. He giggled with delight and backed up to do it again as Podrick fixed up the dummy.

He did his steps again. And again and again and again and again and a seemingly endless number of times as Jaime stood, each getting a bit better. A bit tighter. Arthur was already strong, tall for his age with larger hands and broader shoulders than most. If he chose to be a knight, he would make a great one.

For a moment, Jaime thought of another time. When he had first been allowed to join the men in the training yard. Unseating squires twice his age. Spending his teenage years at the side of Barristan the Bold. Tasting ale and blood in his mouth the night after his first battles. He smiled at his son.

But it made him think too not only of himself, but of Tommen. Gentle Tommen, who was never truly destined for anything other than a sweet wife and serving a colder king as a loyal bannerman, far from the crassness and cruelty of court. But Jaime could remember him as a little boy, when, as he had seen with many children, he carried the dreams and stories of knighthood close to his chest.

A little round Tommen, with curling golden hair and a sweet round face as the guards at Kings’ Landing let him around the training yards. Tommen was easy to love, and he had loved the Kingsguard with their flowing white cloaks and shining Baratheon armor. Jaime had never been able to be around Joffrey, but there were moments when he could be close to Tommen, watch him as he swung wooden sticks or dulled tourney swords at practice targets and talked to Ser Barristan about his imagined future as a knight in a song.

He had grown, then, tall and thin like Jaime with short, cropped hair. He no longer wondered to the training yard after Cersei had refused to hear of him squiring for anyone. No one was worth her child. Their son. And then, all of a sudden, he was king. Jaime remembered seeing Tommen in the hallway by his rooms the night of Joffrey’s funeral. Tommen sat on the ground, one of Kingsguard lingering near him, gesturing at a hole in wall.

 _“Uncle Jaime,”_ He had said, as he came close _. “Have you met Ser Pounce?”_

Jaime turned to go back into the castle, not wanting to ruin Arthur’s first day of training by making him think that he was the reason that Jaime was so upset. He walked slowly through the hall, knowing whom he needed to speak with, and knowing where to find her.

The Evenstar of Tarth, The Lady Knight, The Blue Woman: His Lady Wife had many names but a fairly predictable daily schedule. Her found her in their solar, going over a summation of household expense reports. Catelyn sat on one of the small couches, working on a delicate but beautifully intricate bit of embroidery that seemed to be a sort of landscape scene. Both looked up at him, Catelyn smiling broadly.

“Catelyn, would you mind doing your needlework in the library for a while?” Brienne spoke evenly, giving no indication that she knew he was upset. Jaime, however, knew better.

Catelyn’s smile went down a bit, but Jaime gave her a quick kiss to her hair as she left, and she was humming as she closed the doors behind her. Since she had begun her needleworking, no piece of clothing was safe. Any of the twins clothing that would sit still had become embroidered with haphazard sigils, names, or whatever shapes that she had been wanting to practice at the time. The sleeves of many of Jaime’s doublets had been embroidered with tiny shapes, varying degrees of identifiable.

“Is something wrong with Arthur?” Jaime shook his head, not moving to sit and instead going to the window where he could hear Arthur’s occasional call-to-arms or squeal of delight as he worked.

“Ser Podrick is good to take so much time for him,” He said, unsure still of how to begin this conversation.

“Pod loves our children as a brother would,” Brienne stood, concern writ across her face. Hiding her feelings had never been one of her many skills, and usually it relived Jaime. His life had been simply an accumulation of lies and hidden feelings until he finally realized that nothing was as it seemed to be. The stupidest Lannister to the last. “Has something happened, Jaime?”

“No,” He shook his head, doing his best to lighten his voice. “No, I was simply remembering things that I would be happier forgetting.”

“Your sister.” Brienne did not say it as a question. These conversations, he realized, had been much the same. She didn’t sound upset, her voice flat. It was unfair of him to always tell her things about Cersei, and he would give anything to not do so. But she always insisted, and she had never, not even once been angry at the secrets he had spoken to her that had burned away so much of his life.

“My son.” Jaime said and smiled softly, realizing that wasn’t particularly descriptive. “Tommen.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows, folding her hands together over her middle. It wasn’t often Jaime talked about his three past children, he himself wasn’t sure why. He had never truly known them, but there were lingering glimpses of them here. Catelyn looked so much like Myrcella at times that Jaime worried he would reach out and she would vanish on the end of his fingers. There were nights he held her closer to his chest that he normally would, kept her tight to him to feel her breath and beating heart.

“He used to dress just like that. Play a knight when he was still a little boy in the yard.” Jaime turned away, not able to face her gaze just yet. “His favorite was Ser Barristan, then Arthur Dayne, then me. He made sure I knew that I was one of the best. It was more than once I found him trying to play with my sword, even after he found out he wouldn’t be allowed to squire.”

Jaime felt a tear leak onto his cheek. Only one, for his son so long dead he doubted even his bones remained. He looked back to Brienne, and saw in her eyes a look of loss that reflected his own. Not pity for him, only grief for his son.

He moved towards her, sliding his hand down to hers, hearing the sounds of their son continuing to practice and play. “I don’t mean to ruin our son’s first day of training.”

“You aren't ruining anything,” She said softly. “I’m sorry Tommen is gone.”

He lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to her fingers before moving her hand to rest against his cheek. He pressed his face against her hand, closing his eyes for a moment as the warmth soothed him. Her fingers curled slightly, wiping away the tear streaking down his face.

“Thank you,” He said, opening his eyes to see her smiling at him. She dropped her hand, down again, still lacing their fingers back together. “I’m going to step back out, I think. So Arthur doesn’t think I’ve left him.”

He arrived just as they were finishing, Podrick showing Arthur how to undo the clasps on his armor with endless patience. Arthur waited as long as he could until he burst free from Podrick, leaving him holding the padded breastplate and ran straight to Jaime, wrapped his arms around his legs. “Did you see?” He asked, his voice nearly vibrating with excitement.

“You looked a true knight,” Arthur giggled as Jaime reached down and lifted him suddenly, his body still small enough for his father to swing him in a wide, loose circle. Arthur giggled and laughed and laughed, his golden hair damp with sweat and bouncing on his head. “Just like your mother.”

He pulled Arthur close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as his son laid his head on his shoulder, suddenly tired after his day of practicing. “Like you,” The little boy said softly, poking a finger into Jaime’s chest before griping the fabric in his hand to steady himself.


End file.
